


Love of Mine

by zjofierose



Series: Sheith Angst Week 2019 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Married Couple, OMC - previous boyfriend of Shiro's, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 17:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: Shiro receives word that a former boyfriend of his has died.





	Love of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: while not described in graphic terms, this fic does reference and discuss the off-screen suicide of an OMC. If this is a trigger for you, *please do not read this fic*.
> 
> Because September is National Suicide Awareness Month, and due to the loss of the seventh member of my extended family to suicide (not to mention the friends and classmates), I will be dedicating my @sheithangstweek fics this week to suicide prevention. Please see my twitter (@zjofierose) for further info.

The house feels empty when he enters, silent and dim, but Keith knows he can find Shiro by following the smell of incense from the front door down to their bedroom. He takes off his shoes and jacket by the entry and pads down the short hallway to stand in their doorframe and peer in. 

Shiro’s crosslegged in front of the small shrine which sits against the far wall. His back is to Keith, but Keith’s sure that Shiro knows he’s there. He leans quietly, waiting patiently for Shiro to finish, letting the scent of the smoke and the nearness of his beloved lull him into his own form of meditation. 

Minutes pass, then Shiro moves, reaching out one long arm. Keith goes to him without question, settling down next to Shiro on the short carpet, tucking his legs under himself and watching the incense curl toward the ceiling. He glances at the shrine, familiar with its photos of Shiro’s parents and grandparents, of Keith’s father in his firefighting uniform, it’s fresh offerings of fruit and drink. 

“Who is he?” Keith asks quietly, leaning his weight into Shiro’s side as he taps a finger on the newest addition. It’s an older photo and the man in it is young, dressed in a fresh, new Garrison officer’s uniform with one stripe. He’s smiling easily at the camera, or rather, at whomever’s holding it, his arms folded and stance wide. 

“His name is… was... Rick Everett,” Shiro says, his voice tired. “We were together for a year and a half, first as cadets and then after we first became officers. He transferred to another base before you started; you wouldn’t have met him.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith tells him, resting his head on Shiro’s shoulder, feeling the way Shiro’s arm around him is a little tighter than usual. “What happened?”

Shiro shrugs. “I don’t know many of the details. I just found out about an hour ago; Matt called me. He and Rick were buddies when we were training, and I guess they’d gotten back in touch after the war.” Shiro pulls a hand across his face and shakes his head.

Keith waits, letting Shiro take his time. He’s quick to order and quick to snark, but sometimes the deeper, more complicated feelings take a little longer to find their way from his lips. 

“I guess he doesn’t have a lot of friends and family left,” Shiro says after a minute. “So Matt and I have been asked to be pallbearers.”

“When’s the service?” Keith wraps his arm around Shiro’s waist, holding him close. 

Shiro gives a shuddering sigh and shakes himself. “Day after tomorrow,” he says, and Keith nods.

“I’ll make sure your dress uniform is ready to go,” he tells him, and Shiro’s arm squeezes around him in thanks.

\--

Keith doesn’t attend: the service is being kept intentionally small, and he didn’t know Rick, didn’t even know of him till after he was gone. Instead, he ties Shiro’s tie for him, and straightens his medals, and watches as the face of Shiro’s professional self slips into place with its lifted chin and steely gaze. 

He waits till Shiro’s been gone an hour before he fires up the hoverbike and heads off into the desert, flying mindlessly into the sun. He pulls over in the shadow of a mesa when the vibrations of the engine start to make his hands go numb and parks, hopping off to hike around the base of it kicking at rocks and watching as lizards scuttle into the shade at his passing. 

There’s a small overhang on the far side of the table, and Keith pokes into it, scuffling along loudly and listening for any rattles. It’s cool beneath the slab of rock, and Keith makes his way to the back wall, letting his eyes adjust. After a moment, he can see a handprint painted onto the roof where it meets the angled rock base, the negative afterimage of a palm and all its fingers outlined with red.

Keith crosses to the back and stands for a long moment looking at it, then holds his hand to the rock, lining up the fingers with his own. The artist’s fingers were more even than Keith’s; the red outline of a pinkie finger stretches past the end of his, while his middle and index finger reach out past the ancient silhouette. 

His wedding ring glints in the dim light, and Keith reaches up his other hand to touch the metal briefly. It’s not new - he and Shiro have been married for over a decade now - but sometimes it still surprises him, the sight of it on his finger, the tangible reminder that, no matter where he goes, someone is waiting for him to return.

Did Rick have that, Keith wonders, and was it not enough? Or was he alone - no family, no friends, and eventually, no war?

Keith pats the rock and walks out into the sun, mounts his hoverbike, and flies home.

\--

Shiro comes home late and clearly drunk, his uniform still impeccable, but his eyes red and his mouth drawn. Keith meets him at the door and brings him in, walking him to the bathroom and stripping him from his uniform even as Shiro pats at his shoulders and presses salty kisses to his face. 

“Did you go out with Matt after the service?” Keith asks, turning on the water and helping Shiro into the shower. 

“Come with me,” Shiro says, “I need to be able to touch you,” so Keith shucks his pajamas and steps into the shower stall, pulling the curtain behind them. Shiro sighs with relief as Keith prods him under the water, wetting his hair and handing him the soap. 

“Lean back,” Keith tells him, and rubs shampoo onto Shiro’s head, letting his fingers press into the nerves of Shiro’s scalp until he moans in gratitude.

“Yeah,” Shiro says eventually, turning to rinse. “Matt and I and a couple of the other guys who knew Rick, we all went to the bar after. Matt was…” he sighs, and Keith can see him sobering up under the combination of the water and the memories. “Matt’s pretty messed up about it. I guess Rick had been depressed for a while, but he was getting counseling, he’d done rehab a few different times. Everyone thought he was doing better? But then… this.”

Keith reaches around him to shut the water off and opens the shower curtain, reaching for their towels. “Did Matt get home okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro takes his towel from Keith’s hand and drags it across his face, his words muffling into the terry cloth. “Yeah, we poured him into a cab and gave it Pidge’s address. It’s just…” Shiro pulls his face free and scrubs at his hair. “Matt doesn’t understand things like this, I think? Even with all he saw, all that he suffered at the hands of the Empire, he just… he always managed to focus on the next attempt, or the next hope?”

Keith nods, hanging his towel on the rack and pulling his pajamas back on. “Matt’s an optimist, and he’s always had a good support system,” he says, and Shiro nods.

“Yeah.” Shiro rubs at his face again, hard, and Keith reaches up to pull the towel away, stroking his hand gently over Shiro’s reddened skin.

“Do you want some food?” 

Shiro manages to let Keith go long enough to hang up his towel, but then he wraps his still-damp naked body around Keith’s shoulders. He shakes his head, his wet hair smacking into Keith’s cheek.

“No,” Shiro’s voice is exhausted and thick, and the last time Keith has seen him this clingy was after Keith’s shuttle had a malfunction on a routine intra-solar run that had crash-landed Keith into the ocean. “I just want to go lie down.”

“Okay,” Keith says, and guides them into their room. He lets Shiro keep his face buried in his neck while he fishes out Shiro’s pajama bottoms from the drawer and holds them out so Shiro can step in.

Shiro releases him just enough for Keith to switch off the light, then drags Keith into bed with him, turning Keith onto his side and wrapping him up in his arms, pulling him back tight against Shiro’s broad chest. 

There’s silence for a long moment, stretching such that Keith wonders if Shiro was actually drunk enough that he genuinely passed out, but then Shiro lets out a shuddering sigh, and Keith turns in his arms to face him.

“I’m so sorry,” Keith tells him softly, and Shiro nods, eyes squeezed shut against the dark room. He takes a few deep, deliberate breaths, shaking softly as Keith rubs wetness from his face with a thumb.

“He had five kids,” Shiro says after a minute, and Keith bites his lip. “The first one must’ve been born while we were still in officers school. She’s nearly twenty, and looks just like him.” He pauses. “She’s the one who found him. God, Keith, the look in her eyes when I met her…”

Keith strokes a reassuring hand down Shiro’s arm where it’s tight around his waist. “What was he like when you knew him?” 

Shiro gives a wet, hiccuping laugh before he sits up, leaning back against the headboard and pulling Keith into his lap. “He was always funny,” Shiro tells him, voice cracking, “he had a comeback for everything, it was impossible to get the last word. He loved to read mysteries, the trashier, the better. He was…” Shiro trails off, and Keith sets them gently rocking, a mindless, soothing motion side to side to side. “He wasn’t always kind, but he was always determined.”

“What happened?” 

Shiro sighs hard. “I don’t know. He had bouts of sadness when I knew him, but I wouldn’t have considered them much out of the ordinary. He’d get quiet and withdrawn, or sometimes angry, but he’d always shake it off after a week or two.”

“But he moved,” Keith prompts.

“Yeah,” Shiro nods against Keith’s hair, “Matt kept in touch with him, but we’d broken up and I was with Adam, so I didn’t really bother. And then the war, and Voltron and...” His hand trembles where it’s set on Keith’s arm. “Maybe I should have tried harder.”

“It’s impossible to know if that would have made a difference, Shiro,” Keith tells him gently.

“God,” Shiro mumbles into Keith’s hair, “I just wish there was something I could have done. Or Matt could have done. Or…”

“I know,” Keith whispers, “I know you do.”

“I feel like I’m taking this a lot harder than I should,” Shiro tells him, his voice frustrated. “Yes, we were together, but not for that long, and it was literally decades ago.”

Keith shifts himself off Shiro’s lap, sliding back under the covers and pulling Shiro down until he’s lying wrapped in the cradle of Keith’s embrace.

“There’s no right or wrong way to feel about something like this, “ Keith tells him. “Even if it wasn’t for long, he was important to you, and he was hurting, and now he’s gone. It’s ok for you to respond to that.”

Shiro’s quiet for a long moment. “We’ve lost so many,” he says, and Keith’s heart clenches. “In the war, now after the war.” He pauses again, his fingers clutching at Keith’s shoulder painfully hard. “I’ve lost so many. First my family, then so many in the arena. Adam. Nearly the Holts, nearly myself. Nearly you.”

Keith presses as close as he can within the confines of his own skin, letting Shiro hide his face in his hair as Keith’s hands map the territory of his shoulders, his back. His own heart feels like it’s breaking with the sorrow of a thousand losses sustained, aching in symphonic sympathy with Shiro’s own pain. 

“I’m here,” Keith whispers, and Shiro’s grip tightens further, his body trembling. “I’m right here, Shiro.”

“Promise me,” Shiro chokes into his neck, face damp and muscles pulled taut in distress. “ _ Promise _ me, Keith. Don’t ever leave me.”

Keith holds his breath for a long moment, exhaling in a measured release to calm his own distress. 

It’s an impossible promise. Even with the war over, there’s always danger in what they do, and danger in simply being alive - a pilot can have a system malfunction, a Blade leader can be assassinated, Keith could step in front of a bus, not to mention all the many things they don’t know about his and Shiro’s altered lifespans. 

He presses a kiss to Shiro’s head. “Never by choice,” he says finally, because he can’t lie, not to Shiro, who sobs once, hard, into his arms at the answer. Keith rocks him gently until Shiro’s trembling stops, his arms still locked around Keith’s body as though there are ways they can yet merge into one being. “Never by choice, and Shiro,” Keith whispers, waiting until Shiro’s silver eyes blink up at him in the dark. “I’m here now.”

Shiro kisses him.


End file.
